Girlsies Week 2018
by Ensignily
Summary: Tumblr's Girlsies Week of 2018.
1. Day 1: Canon Era

"Ow!"

Finch whipped around as he brought his hand up to rub the back of his neck, where he had been targeted with a small pebble. Between the horses and wagons that marched the streets, he could see the girl on the other side – the girl who wore trousers, the girl who wore her hair up in her hat, the girl who stayed in the house with the boys, the girl who held a slingshot in her hand, staring at him through the fork of her weapon. She tucked it back into her coat pocket and shot him a look, a look that said _stay away from my spot_.

Finch scowled and turned away, trudging back from where he came.

She started living with them about a few weeks ago. He didn't know her name, or where she came from, but he didn't really care. All he cared about right now was how she was good with her slingshot and he felt _threatened_. The slingshot was _his_ thing. How could she just walk right in and be… almost _better_ than him? It was stupid. She's stupid.

They never spoke, not with words at least. It started when Finch was standing with Henry, talking to him about this and that and the new girl that decided to stay in the lodge. _I ain't never seen no girl with a catapult_ , he told Henry. _I bet she's just got it for show, pretendin' to be tough or somethin'. Girls got bad aim._

Oh, how he would regret saying that.

Mere seconds later, something hit Finch in the back of the head. He jumped around and saw a balled-up piece of newspaper roll to a stop on the floor, then looked up and saw the girl barricaded on her bunk, all the way across the room. Henry burst out laughing, ridiculing Finch until another wad of paper hit him square in the forehead. Finch watched the girl, who just stared back at him with a blank face. He walked out of the room, unsure of how to feel.

The next day he got his revenge – he finished selling before she did, so he positioned himself at the top of the stairwell and waited for her to walk in. When she did, he hit her with a wad of paper and ran off. In one swift motion, the girl swept the ball off the ground and shot it back at him.

"What?!" he cried, spinning around when he felt the projectile hit his back. She stood there looking up at him, expression unreadable but determined. He turned around and marched down the stairs, stopping a step or two above her. "Oh, it's on."

Since then, they've been engaged in a silent war. Finch would ambush her when he found her off-guard, but he almost always got hit whenever he was least expecting it – for instance, when he stumped upon her selling spot and she hit him with a pebble. Not only that, but whenever he got hit, he'd have to _look around_ for her. She was always hidden!

"Where is she?!" Finch yelled one day, after getting shot in the middle of the rec room with the girl nowhere to be found.

"Who?"

"The Sniper!" He yelled. His eyes washed over the entire room, looking for her braids under one of the caps.

Choruses of _huh?_ s and _what's you talkin' about?_ s from the boys yelled in response. Finch waved around erratically.

"The girl, the girl! She's a sniper, she keeps– ow!"

A balled up piece of paper collided with his nose, causing him to go cross-eyed for a moment. Immediately he jumped into action, ignoring the howling laughter from the other newsboys, and located the source of the projectile: the… door? The closed door. Right. Okay. Finch marched to the door, flung it open, and saw the girl hightailing it up the stairs.

"Oh no you don't!" Finch yelled, barreling after her.

When he got up to the bedroom, the girl was once again hidden. Finch looked around, armed himself with his slingshot in preparation, and slowly proceeded into the room.

"Alright, I know you's in here," he said. Cautiously, he walked down the middle aisle, scanning the room with each step. It was quiet… too quiet. The only noise in the room was his light footsteps, kicking up loose newspaper pages that lay scattered across the floor. Suddenly, something to his left fell, and he whipped around, slingshot ready. Nothing stuck out, and he looked at the surrounding area through his slingshot. A balled up piece of newspaper fell, presumably from the top bunk, he deduced. He picked up the projectile and very, very quietly climbed up the adjacent bunk.

Then he was hit.

"No!" He yelled. He dropped off the bed frame and turned around to see the sniper once again barricaded on her bunk, the one in the very corner closest to the door where she wouldn't be seen from the doorway. "Shit," he cursed, then scrambled to pick up the ball and shoot it back at her. In an instant, she hid back under her fort, and the ball bounced uselessly off the pillow in front of her. Finch dove onto the floor under the window, grabbed a stray piece of paper in his fist, balled it up, and shot it. This time it hit her, and she shot three more wads of paper back. They began to slingshot the balls back and forth across the room, like two kids in a snowball fight. At some point, Finch ran out of loose paper around him, and all the previous balls lay scattered around the girl's bunk. Finch grabbed the closest thing to him – a sock – balled it up, and launched it. The sock soared across the room and hit the girl square in the face. Finch let out a burst of laughter. The girl took the sock, and rather than shoot it back, sat up on her bed and chucked it across the room onto Finch's face. With his mouth open in laughter, part of the sock made direct contact with the inside of his mouth, and Finch jumped and flung the sock off him in disgust.

"Eww, disgusting!" He yelled, scrubbing off his tongue with the back of his hand. Across the room, the girl burst out laughing.

"Hey, what's going on up here?" A voice called from the door. The pair turned and saw Jack, who'd entered the room amidst the chaos.

"She threw a sock into my mouth!"

"He threw it first!"

"Alright, alright," Jack held out his arms, signaling for them to chill out. "Come on, you crazy kids. We's going out for supper soon, so hurry it up."

Jack left, and Finch hoisted himself off the floor. He walked over to the girl's bunk and offered her a hand as she climbed down. He chuckled, saying something about how _you know, that was pretty fun_ as she hesitantly took his hand. She let go, and they began to hop down the stairs together.

"Hey, Sniper," Finch said. "You wanna try shootin' targets together sometime?"

She laughed. "Ain't that what we been doing?"

"No, like cans and bottles and stuff!" He said. "I bet I can get more than you."

"No way," she replied, shoving his shoulder (with probably more force than needed, since he bumped into the stair railing as a result). "I've got better aim."

"Do _not_."

"Do too! You's just afraid to admit it!"

Finch let out a light laugh. "Yeah, sure. We'll see about that."

Weekly shooting contests then became a thing. Every couple of days, Finch and Sniper would go out to an alley behind the lodge and shoot the cans, bottles, rats, and trash cans, often competing to see who could hit the most or who could hit the best. Their little shoot-offs were fierce and competitive, yet friendly. Sometimes, when they were feeling daring, they'd sneak around the corner and shoot pebbles at people's feet, and duck back into the alley as they laughed at the confused and exasperated yells. They never got caught, but even so, you don't want to get into a fight with these kids – if they get into trouble, they stand back to back, each armed with their slingshot, and unleash all hell. Prepare to lose your eyeballs if you try and fight them, they won't even let you get close. They're a deadly team.

They didn't really realize they'd become _friends_ until someone pointed it out.

One day Albert came back to the lodge, holding up a bunch of grapes in his fists victoriously. The boys gathered around the table to pick at the fruit, thoroughly enjoying the refreshing bursts of juice on their tongues.

"Didja buy these, Albert?" Buttons asked.

Race guffawed. "Are ya kiddin'? Albert's the cheapest one here, he wouldn't even buy a new mudder if it meant he'd hafta give up fifty cents." The boys laughed, and Albert shoved him.

"Hey, Finch!" A voice called. Finch turned towards the voice and saw a slingshot aimed at his face, with Sniper behind it and a grape in the pocket. "Open up!"

Finch opened his mouth up wide, and Sniper launched the grape across the table. It just barely missed his mouth, ricocheting off his teeth and onto the floor. Sniper laughed and tried two more times before successfully getting it into his mouth, where it almost went directly down his throat before he even had a chance to close his mouth. The other boys cheered and slung their arms around the two friends.

"You two are a _riot!_ " Specs laughed.

"Yeah, you's been much more fun since you became friends!" Jojo agreed.

Finch and Sniper just looked at each other, a look that said, _yeah, I guess we are friends._


	2. Day 2: Modern AU

The number of students that showed up to the walkout meeting was incredible. Miss Larkin, though technically not allowed to help them, allowed a band of students to use her classroom if they wanted to organize a student walkout. In all honesty, Katherine only expected it to be her and her close friends but was shocked when she entered the room to see nearly every seat filled. Kids from every grade level sat in the room, chatting amongst themselves. Katherine went and sat next to Sarah.

"Thanks for saving me a seat," Katherine said, smiling. She dumped her bag on the floor and sat down.

"No problem," Sarah replied. "How's your speech going?" Katherine inhaled through her teeth, and Sarah laughed. "Not good?"

"No, no, it's fine," Katherine waved her off, "I'm just nervous."

"Don't be, you'll be fine," Sarah said.

Before Katherine could reply, Miss Larkin stood up and got everyone's attention.

"Hello, children! My, what a lovely bunch we have here!" She grinned from ear to ear and scanned the room. "I see we've got Jack with us, and Davey, and Hannah, and – oh, and is that Romeo back there?" She laughed jovially. "And I see plenty of new faces, as well!" Her eyes swept over the room, taking in all the familiar and unfamiliar students she hosted. "Well, regardless of whether you know me or not, you _all_ know Mr. Pulitzer's stance on this event, don't you?"

Many students nodded, some solemn, some angry. A couple of the rowdier kids shouted out insults.

"Well, this little meeting is between us, alright?" She said. She stared at them all, making sure they got the point stuck in their head. "This is a student-led organization – I'm not involved _what-so-ev-er_ , I'm just letting you use my room. Got it?"

"Yes, Miss Larkin!"

"Alright. Why don't we start by throwing around ideas?"

The kids in the room all began to share their vision for the walkout. Miss Larkin let Hannah use her desktop to list out the ideas on a document, which was then shared with all the other kids. Ideas were thrown left and right, and It was clear in their eyes that they were passionate, that they were willing to face any punishment they were threatened with.

At some point, they got on the topic of guest speakers. Miss Larkin asked if anyone was interested in speaking, and Katherine slowly raised her hand.

"Ah, Miss Katherine!" Miss Larkin clapped her hands together. "You would like to speak?"

"Yes ma'am," Katherine replied. "I have a rough draft, actually, would you like me to read it?"

"Of course!" She said. She gestured in a _go right ahead_ motion, and Katherine opened up her notebook to her speech. Katherine took a deep breath, then began to read. The room was quiet, listening to her words forged out of anger and impatience. The speech was short, only a few paragraphs, and she finished before she knew it. The classroom applauded, some giving various shouts of approval.

Katherine smiled, very modest, and thanked the room. Sarah gave her a bump on the shoulder that translated to _good job!_ As the others gave suggestions for her speech, she wrote them down in her notebook and bounced back ideas off of the suggestions. It worked rather well, and by the time they were done, Katherine had a plethora of things to add to her draft.

The next meeting was exactly a week later. Katherine, Sarah, and Hannah met up as soon as they were dismissed and walked to the drama room together. There weren't as many kids this time – all the less passionate ones had been weeded out. Now they were left with mostly the theatre kids, SGA kids, chorus kids, yearbook kids, and some others; all fired up and ready to take on the world.

Once the meeting started, the students began to narrow down all their ideas, and focus on which they wanted to do and how it was going to be done. Ideas were still all over the place, but they were getting there.

Katherine began to take charge. She stood up and read a revised version of her speech, and listened to any remaining suggestions her peers had to offer. Then, as they continued along, she gave suggestions on what to change and how to organize things. She started a big group chat with all of them in it, and then they could plan even when they weren't in a meeting.

Everyone spread the word on social media: Walkout on March 14th, 10:00 am at the front gate. They told their friends and posted it on Snapchat, Instagram, and Twitter. If they wanted to prove to Mr. Pulitzer that they mean business, they needed as many kids on board as possible.

The next meeting was on the Friday before the walkout. The meeting began as usual, and the group started to form a schedule for the walkout. Sarah stood at the whiteboard, listing off the events: introduction, 3 minutes; honoring the victims followed by a moment of silence, 3 minutes; Katherine's speech, 5 minutes; chanting, 6 minutes. Jack, a theatre techie, planned on getting a mic and speaker to hook up beforehand – and, as the Junior Class President, was willing to present the introductory speech at the start of the walkout (written by Davey, the Junior Class VP, of course). Katherine told all her friends in yearbook to be there with their cameras, and Sarah helped Katherine finish her speech. They were getting everything figured out and ready for Wednesday.

Suddenly, the door swung open.

The kids didn't bother at first, assuming it was just Miss Larkin coming back from the restroom, but then a deep voice boomed across the room.

"Well, well, well. What do we have here?"

Everyone froze. There in the doorway stood the principal, Mr. Pulitzer.

He stepped slowly into the room, taking a good look at each student. Everyone stood silently, brewing in their anger, hatred, and fear – it radiated off their bodies like heat, changing the very atmosphere of the room. Mr. Pulitzer either didn't notice it or didn't care (probably the latter). He put one hand on his hip and leaned the other against a desk, with a very menacing smile plastered on his face.

After a horrible, horrible moment of silence, he finally spoke. "I told you all that events of these kinds will not be permitted at this school," he said. His eyes swept over the room, looking at each student to make sure his point was clear. "Unless you children want to be suspended, I suggest you disband this at once."

"How'd you find out?"

Everyone turned towards the voice – Sarah Jacobs. She stood tall, making fierce eye contact with the principal.

Mr. Pulitzer smiled as if he expected the question to arise (he did, of course). "You kids and your social media," he said, shaking his head with a laugh. "You think that an old man like me doesn't know how your brains work? Our deans have their eyes all over your profiles – your Snapchats, your Tweets, everything."

Their eyes widened, and the silence continued. All their hearts beat collectively; a quick, pounding sound in their ears.

"You can't stop us now," Jack said, "Word's already out."

"Oh, no, _I_ can't stop you," Mr. Pulitzer said, "But _you_ can."

The kids blinked at him questioningly. He cleared his throat and continued.

"You kids go back onto your Snapchats, and your Instagrams," he said, "and tell all your friends that the walkout is off."

"Yeah, and what if we don't?"

"Then your colleges will see a three-day suspension for insubordination on your permanent record."

No one said anything to this. Any remaining fear in the room had long since burned into hatred. Mr. Pulitzer seemed quite satisfied with the looks on their faces.

Jack took a step forward, full of rage. "You can't just be quiet about this! Kids are _dying_ in _schools_ , a place where we come to _learn!_ That just ain't right! You're trying to silence us for wanting the right to be _safe?"_

"I will _not_ allow this school to become involved in this political scheme!" Pulitzer yelled. Everyone flinched. "We are tightening security, we are doing monthly searches, we are doing active shooter drills. I am doing what I can to make this school safer."

"That ain't enough!"

Mr. Pulitzer regained his composure, and his unsettling smile returned. "Ah, Mr. Jack Kelly. Suspended for fighting and encouraging delinquent behavior," he began to pace around the room, and Jack had a terrible look on his face. The principal stopped again and faced the boy. "If you're planning on adding this to your record as well, I might as well have you expelled!"

"They was _bullies!"_ Jack yelled. He squeezed his eyes shut. "Them stupid brothers, beating up on… on–" Jack shook the thought out of his head and looked back up at Mr. Pulitzer. "They was bullies," he repeated, "and you ain't no better."

Everyone stood, shocked, quiet. Mr. Pulitzer's casually wicked smile was gone, now replaced with disgust and malice. He looked up at the rest of the students.

"Tell all your friends that the walkout is canceled," he said. "Otherwise, you will suffer the consequences."

Silence. Not a breath, heartbeat, or pin-drop.

Sarah stepped forward.

"Alright," she said. All heads turned towards her, mouths agape. "We'll do it."

"Sarah–" Davey started.

"No," she interrupted. She turned around and faced all of her classmates, back to Pulitzer. "We're going to college soon, and we don't want this to be the thing that denies us our chance of getting into our dream schools." Sarah stared at each kid, eyes wide and screaming what words could not. _Go with it_ , they said, _trust me_. "Right guys?"

One by one, the students reluctantly nodded. Eventually, Mr. Pulitzer seemed satisfied.

"Alright, children. Out we go," he said, holding the door open. The kids sluggishly gathered their things and walked out the door. Mr. Pulitzer made sure they all made it out the front gate, then let them go. As soon as they were all out, Sarah motioned for them all to gather 'round.

"We're not actually canceling this, are we?" Hannah asked.

"No, no, of course not," Sarah replied. "I got a plan… though I don't have all of it."

"Well, let's hear it, and we'll fill in the rest," Katherine said with a smile. Sarah smiled back.

"Alright, well here's what I'm thinking…"

• • •

On Monday evening, after all the teachers had headed home, the gang met up at a side entrance to the school. At 5:00 pm, a janitor opened the door for the kids, right on schedule. They made their way to the yearbook room.

"Is he okay with this?" One of the boys asked. "Ain't he gonna get fired if they catch him?"

"He put in his two-weeks' notice eleven days ago," Katherine said with confidence. "I heard my dad talking about it just last Sunday. Trust me, it's nothing."

They got to the room, flicked the lights on, and turned on one of the computers. Katherine stuck her flash drive in, opened up a document, and turned on the printer. "I'll get these going," she said, "Jack, you go get supplies for the banner from drama and bring them back here. When you're back, we'll let you know the setup plan."

"Got it," Jack said. He tipped his hat then ran out the door.

Katherine pulled up a map of the school on the computer and motioned for the group to gather around. She grabbed her pencil from behind her ear. "Okay, you all heard Mr. Pulitzer's announcement yesterday, right?"

"Yeah, he said he'd suspend anyone that went to the walkout!"

Katherine took her pencil and pointed at the front gate on the map. "This is where we had the walkout planned before. So, Pulitzer's probably going to have that area on watch to catch anyone that shows up. With administration's attention over there, we'll have the walkout over _here._ " She tapped on a space between two of the buildings. "Pulitzer's office is in building one, right here. So, we take our walkout to this courtyard, right outside his window."

"Wait, why would we do that? Won't he suspend us?"

"Not if there's enough of us," Katherine said. "Think about it – if we get the whole school involved in this, what's he going to do about it? Suspend ninety percent of the student population? I don't think so."

"But how're we gonna tell people to go there if they look at our social media?"

"Then we don't use social media," Sarah stepped in. "That's why I wrote this," she motioned to the document that Katherine pulled up. _"Fellow Students,"_ she read, _"Mr. Pulitzer has denied us our right to stay safe, to speak up for ourselves, unaffiliated with the employees of this school. Our lives are in danger due to the apathy and selfishness of adults. We joke that school feels like a jail now, but wait until we build larger gates, hire more police officers, and have mandatory backpack searches every other week. We are not addressing the problem, we are hiding from it. That is why we urge you to join us, on March 14th at 10:00 am at the courtyard, to stand up for yourself and for your safety. If enough of us come, we surely can change this school for the better."_

There was a stunned silence, then a burst of applause.

"Whoa, that was really good!"

"With this, and Jack's banner, and Katherine's speech, we will surely win!" Hannah said. Everyone cheered again.

Katherine cracked her knuckles. "Alright," she said, determined, "let's get started."

She began to print hundreds of the fliers. As they printed, Katherine grabbed a stack of about 20 sheets at a time and handed them to one of the runners, who took the fliers and shoved them in lockers all down the halls and taped them onto the insides of bathroom stalls. Eventually, Jack came back to the yearbook room, lugging a bucket of paint supplies in one hand and a huge roll of paper over his shoulder. He set it down, rolled out a long banner across the floor, and got to work. Katherine monitored the printer's paper and ink levels, while a few members of the gang kept watch just in case an administrator was still at school. The rest of the team used poster boards from the classroom and Jack's paint supplies to create picket signs for the walkout. For an hour they danced through this routine until the last of the runners came back saying they finished. Katherine printed at least five more per person to hand out the next day, and everyone gathered their things to leave. A parade of kids helped carry Jack's still-wet banner out the door, while everyone else got the signs. Outside the school, they bid each other good luck, and went their separate ways, ready for tomorrow.

• • •

The walkout hardly followed the plan they'd drafted on Friday: just before ten, a plethora of students walked out of their class. That morning, everyone opened their locker to find Sarah's flier on their books. Students whispered about it all morning, and word got around. At 9:55 am, all the student organizers made posts on social media en masse – enough time to warn any oblivious students, and not enough time for the administration to see and get a grip. The students congregated in the courtyard, where Jack had set up the mic and speakers, and where Katherine, Sarah, Hannah, Jack, Davey, Race, Romeo, Crutchie, Jojo, Smalls, Sniper, Albert, Henry, Specs, and so many others held the banner together. They faced the building at Mr. Pulitzer's office.

Mr. Pulitzer and the administrators, deans, and counselors were stationed near the front gate, waiting to see if any foolish students would even try. A minute or so passed, and they seemed proud of themselves – until they heard the loud voice of one Jack Kelly coming from somewhere inside the school.

They ran inside. A teacher came running down the hall towards them. "M-Mr. Pulitzer! The students!"

"What about them? Where are they?" He demanded.

"Look out your window!"

Mr. Pulitzer rushed into his office, to the window, and raised the blinds. Outside in the courtyard, nearly the entire population of the school faced him – in front, the students held a large banner that donned big crimson letters that read: _We Will Find A Way._

Mr. Pulitzer's attention then whipped to the gate surrounding the school – uninterested kids were using this event as a chance to hop the fence and leave school! He spun around in his office and faced the administration that gawked out the window behind him.

"Go catch those students!"

As a herd of deans ran out the office, Mr. Pulitzer looked back out the window.

At this point in their schedule, they were meant to have an introductory speech and list the names of the victims, but now, with their change of plans, the students stood, heads held high, and chanted. The minutes dragged on, and Mr. Pulitzer stared at the kids in disbelief, leaning heavily on the windowsill. The kids chanted, and chanted, and chanted.

After a while, Jack spoke into the microphone. "Okay, alright, looks like the old man's getting tired of this. We don't blame ya, Joe. That is why I'm handing the mic over to Katherine, here, to deliver a speech." The sea of students clapped and cheered, and Katherine nervously took the microphone from Jack.

"Thank you, thank you," she said. The cheers eventually quieted down, and Katherine looked between the crowd of students and her father in the window. She took a deep breath, unfolded her speech, and began to speak.

Still. That's the best description of the air as Katherine spoke. Still. The students were quiet, the wind died down, and the only things that existed in that moment were Katherine's words. She started off slow, and a bit quiet, but as she went on, her voice grew stronger and more confident. Passion, heart, anger, and hope lay behind her words. Her voice turned to spears, spears that struck the hearts and heads of the students that listened, that changed the very atmosphere of their school.

When she finished, the silence exploded into noise – cheers, claps, shouts, whistling; all sorts of noise exploded into the blank canvas of silence, engulfing Katherine in their ecstasy. She smiled, she smiled so wide, and spoke her thanks into the microphone. She looked over her shoulder, at her father in the window, and saw his expression – softer, thoughtful, almost… proud? Katherine grinned and turned back towards the students.

"Now, I would like to ask all of you for a moment of silence, to honor and remember the seventeen victims that died last month." She said. The noise once again dialed down, and the canvas was wiped clean again.

Silence. Not a breath, heartbeat, or pin-drop.

Sadness, and fear. That was what everyone felt in that minute of silence. One day they were teenagers, trying to live the best years of their life, trying to get into school, trying to ignore the shitty world around them and enjoy themselves for as long as possible. Then, one day, the shitty world came to them, and they were forced to do something now. They were forced to stand up _now._ They were forced to open their eyes and accept the shitty world for how it is, and told not to do anything about it. Well, now they're tired, tired of the shitty world being thrown in their face. It's about time they do something about it.

The minute lasted a lifetime. Katherine's voice into the microphone, thanking them for the time, was forced and unnatural. It was an awkward break to the silence that pulled them together.

But then, their voices began to rise. They once again chanted, demanding their voices to be heard because no one would listen to them otherwise. Together, their voices sang as one. Their hearts beat as one.

Mr. Pulitzer stood, one versus one.

Even as the clock ticked past 10:17, the students continued to stand. The teachers couldn't do jack shit about it, and they didn't try – they were shocked, dumbfounded, completely thrown off by the entire event. The students continued to chant, angry voices and signs demanded Pulitzer do something.

"Mr. Pulitzer, you have to do something!" One of the administrators said. Mr. Pulitzer slowly nodded, then motioned for the cluster of staff around him to back up. He opened the window and Katherine approached him.

"Katherine, dear, hand me the microphone, please."

Katherine looked back at the students, then to her father, and hesitantly gave it to him. He cleared his throat, then spoke. He addressed the students; the hardworking, determined, _stubborn_ students. He addressed their dedication, bravery, and possibly even stupidity to do what they did just now. But – he said – he had a change of mind. Seeing this, and hearing his daughter's speech, he reconsidered the situation. He announced that he would not suspend all of them, for he had no means to do so, but they still had to make up their class time at some point since it was not a school-organized event. Overall, he was fair, but still remained the same old man that he was known to be.

"With Katherine's words, I've changed my mind," he said. He gave his daughter a small smile. "Not completely, but… enough."

The students erupted into cheers. After the chaos died down, and the event adjourned, students were herded back to their classrooms. Even though they had to go back to class, and didn't exactly _do_ anything impactful or whatever, Katherine's riveting speech still lingered in their minds. Her last words grabbed their hearts, touched their minds, and took them all by the hands and led them to the starting line.

 _We are the generation that inherits the future. What will you do to protect it?_


	3. Day 3: Relationships

A bucket of paint spilled over Buttons' vision, bringing the world around her to life. The greys and blacks and whites that made up the world slowly lit up with color, fading in from nothingness and turning the earth vivid and beautiful. Buttons stood, mouth agape and eyes wide, watching as the colors grew brighter each time she blinked. Slowly, she looked around, taking it all in.

Buttons stood in the doorway of the Newsboys' Lodging House for the very first time, watching the kids roughhouse in the rec room, the world now in color. A warm and fluttery feeling rose from her stomach, filling her chest with excitement. A smile forced its way onto her face.

One of these kids brought color to her world.

This was the place. This is where she was meant to be. She could feel it, she could _see_ it.

Buttons sat and watched the kids play. Her imagination wandered and she wondered which kid was also seeing color for the first time, if they even saw her walk in. Some of the boys romped around on the floor, while others sat at tables playing cards. There were some girls, too; some in dresses, like Buttons, and some in trousers. Some kids were loud and rowdy, while some seemed more reserved and tired. Who would she prefer? Whoever it was, Buttons at least hoped they were cute.

Buttons looked down at her lap, where she rested her folded hands. She noticed the pigments in her skin, and the color of her skirt, and – oh! A mirror! She had to look at herself in the mirror! Buttons stood up and walked down the hall in search of a bathroom. When she found it, she stepped in front of the mirror and looked into her reflection.

She didn't know what the colors were called, but they were all beautiful. Her hair was dark – it looked almost the same that it did before she saw color, but there was something else there that made it seem fuller and prettier. Her eyes and her dress were both the same light color, but Buttons didn't know what that one was called. It didn't matter, they were all wonderful. It was so wonderful and bright and _happy._

When she left the bathroom, another girl stood in the hallway waiting. Her dress was a soft color of some kind, that looked like the feeling of the warm sun on your skin. Her hair was sort of the same, though duller and darker, and her eyes the color of the boots on her feet. The girl looked up at Buttons with a whimsical expression on her face, then broke out into a grin.

"You!" She said.

"Me?" Buttons gasped.

The girl suddenly rushed forward and took Buttons' hands into hers. "You," she repeated, "You's the one. When I saw you, the world turned brighter," she said. She squeezed Buttons' hands, her eyes (dark, but full of life) brimming with excitement. "You see the colors, too, don'tcha?"

Buttons' heart sped up, and she felt her cheeks burn. The fluttery feeling in her chest returned ten times faster, compelling her to squeeze the girl's hands back. "Yes," she breathed, finally. "I see the colors."

The girl broke out into a smile, one that shone brighter than a million suns. A light laugh bubbled out of her throat, and she pulled Buttons into a hug. Buttons wrapped her arms around her and buried her face into the girl's hair. They held each other, sharing a wonderful moment of unity.

There was no greater gift than adding color to someone's world.

They pulled apart, eyes twinkling.

"What's your name?" Buttons asked.

"Jojo," the girl answered. "You?"

"Buttons."

Jojo giggled. "That's a cute nickname. You got a real one?"

"Maybe," Buttons teased, "but everyone calls me Buttons."

"Why's that?"

Buttons reached into her coat pocket and pulled out – you guessed it – two coat buttons. They were roughly the same size but different colors (neither of them knew, but one was yellow, and the other was blue). "They're my lucky charms," she said, with a glint in her eye. "Helps me sell all my papes."

Jojo admired the little charms, then Buttons took one (the yellow one) from her hand and held it out to Jojo.

"Here. You can have this one."

Jojo met her eyes, hesitant at first, but then gleeful. She took the button, squeezed it in her hand, then put it in her own pocket. "Thank you…! I don't have nothin' for you yet, but I'll get something!"

Buttons giggled behind her hand. "No, you don't hafta get me anything. Finding you is enough for me."

Jojo absolutely _beamed_ at her. Suddenly, she grabbed Buttons' hand and dragged her down the hall.

"Hey, where we going?"

"Out!" Jojo said. She turned around and faced Buttons as she continued to lead her, walking backward. "Let's go see all the colors, _together_ ," she grinned. Button couldn't help but smile so wide that her cheeks hurt.

Jojo flung the front door open and pulled Buttons outside. They stood at the doorway facing the street, hand in hand, the great big world no longer in black and white.

Truthfully, the city colors were a bit dull, but when compared to life without it, they were magnificent. Buttons looked up at the sky. Blue. The sky was blue. She knew that; she's heard the phrase as _blue as the sky_ and such, but didn't know what _blue_ was. Now she knew. And if the sky was blue, that meant… her eyes were blue, too. And her button, and her dress!

Her eyes squinted as she faced the sun, warm against her face. Yellow. That was yellow, she was sure. It was radiant and warm and comforting, and that's what yellow felt like.

Jojo was yellow: her dress, her hair, and now her button. Jojo was radiant and warm and comforting. Buttons smiled to herself.

Jojo tugged at her hand. "C'mon, let's go look around," she said. Buttons nodded, lips pressed into a small smile. She let Jojo lead the way through the city, taking them off to see the world for the first time.


	4. Day 4: AU of Choice

A sadness ached in her heart. Smalls took the helenium from behind her ear, its petals once red and orange and vivid now browned and dried. She took the brittle memory of a flower and crushed it in her hands, then let the remains fall onto the dirt. Smalls put her hands on the soft loam and closed her eyes, letting the energy flow from her heart and into the soil. A seedling sprouted from the dirt, green and frail, and slowly grew up, up, up. Out of the dirt, Smalls grew a single blade of vernal grass. She plucked it from the earth, ran the soft tuft across her cheek, and felt a little smile come to her lips. She tucked it behind her ear.

• • •

Smalls ascended the fire escape as the last of the sun's light was fading over the horizon. She reached the top and knocked on the metal frame to get his attention. Jack stood at the edge of the rooftop, staring out into the darkening sky. He wiped his face and turned around to see Smalls' head peeking over the wall. He gave her a hand up, and they stood next to each other, watching the sun dip behind the buildings of the city. Finally, Smalls turned to Jack and held out her hand – in it she held a marigold as brilliant as the sunset, along with a string of yellow agrimonies and a single osmunda leaf. Slowly, gently, he accepted the flowers. He brought them up to his nose and took in the aroma, then thanked her. They sat down together on the rooftop, watching the sky grow darker.

• • •

Smalls unleashed her grief and sadness into the soil. For an hour she cried, curled up in the alley, hoping, dreaming, praying. She pressed her hands into the dirt, and flowers bloomed to life. Light, dainty pink buds blossomed into flowering almonds. She ran her finger over the petals, lightly tickling her skin. They were so pretty. She felt a spark of hope in her chest, and she dug her hands further into the soil. Tiny white flowers of hawthorne emerged, and Smalls set them aside. One final stem grew from the earth, blooming bright pops of red that hung off the stem like a bunch of little scarlet butterflies. She grabbed the three stems and held them together, a beautiful bouquet of tiny flowers.

When the time came, she handed them to Specs. _For Crutchie_ , she said. He nodded, took the flowers, and ran off into the streets.

• • •

Smalls smiled, danced, and played. In the deli, she stood with her brothers as they wished away the pain, celebrating their gains while mourning their losses. It wasn't sunny, nor was it rainy; it was overcast, dreary, and foreboding. Still, despite the overcast, they felt a brief moment of sunshine, even if it was only a moment. Energy returned to her, and she grew a little strand of ivy from her hand. She approached Katherine and placed the little purple flowers in her hand. Katherine smiled so sweetly, and so full of feeling. She put her hand on Smalls' face, sending a feeling of warmth and happiness through her body. She thanked her.

• • •

Race sat on the bed, fiddling with the sheet and staring off, lost in thought. He was weary. The boys were exhausted, but Race held something more in his eyes. Smalls went and wordlessly sat down next to him. He attempted a friendly greeting, but it got lost somewhere on the way out. Smalls revealed her hand and presented a sunflower and lily-of-the-valley to him. The sunflower's stem was long, and the flower stood big and proud, petals perfectly yellow. Meanwhile, the miniature bell petals of the lily-of-the-valley hung downwards, like droplets of dew on a blade of grass in the early morning mist. Race took the flowers and ran his fingers over them, not saying a word. He brought them to his face and inhaled the sweet perfume, closing his eyes and sighing with them still against his nose. Suddenly, he turned to Smalls and pulled her into a hug. He buried his face into her shoulder and murmured a _thank you._

• • •

Davey showed up the next morning distressed, but excited. He called the kids up onto their feet and told them about his idea (with Les saying it was his, too, of course), and to spread the word as fast as they could. The boys started moving, zapped with confidence and eager to get going. Then, Davey asked, _has anyone seen Jack?_ The group fell silent. No one had seen him. Worry overcame Davey's demeanor, but he shook his head in frustration.

Smalls snuck outside and into her alley, where she covered her hands in dirt and grew a scarlet zinnia. She went back to Davey and Les and handed him the flower. He seemed confused but took the flower. She held up her hand, still covered in dirt, and grew a tiny little spout out of the tip of her finger. Les was excited and bubbling with questions, but Smalls simply told Davey, _try asking Miss Medda if she's seen him_ , and let them be.

• • •

Before the rally, Smalls returned to her patch of soil and poured her emotions in: hope, fear, anticipation, excitement – it fertilized the dirt into a soft loam, where new green stems emerged. Stems, leaves, buds, and finally, blossoms. A bouquet of colorful strawflower – purple, orange, red, yellow, white, and pink – grew from the earth. Smalls took the flowers and tucked them into her coat pocket.

She kept it with her through the rally. Then, Jack showed up, and her insides imploded at his words. She stood, empty, watching the Brooklyn kids chase him out.

She retreated to the alley. Again she poured her sorrows and anger and confusion into the earth, and grew a single flowering branch of a Judas tree. She held it in her hand and admired the little lavender petals, running her finger down the branch. She tucked it in with her strawflowers.

• • •

During the night, a storm thundered in The World's cellar. In the early morning, it came to a close. The rain trickled to a stop, and light was seen again. Jack still had his flowers, tucked on the inside of his vest. Race had his sticking out of his pant waist, Katherine wove hers into her hair, and Les stuck the zinnia in his sling. Smalls hadn't been this happy in a long, long time.

Crutchie returned, smile as bright as ever. He was beaten up bad, but still kicking. Smalls approached him, and he thanked her for the flowers, brimming with emotion and appreciation. She wrapped her arms around his middle in a hug, and with her hands behind his back, grew a French and water willow with her excess happiness. When she presented it to him, he laughed freely and took the flowers, then leaned down and planted a kiss on the top of her head.

He flicked the little tuft of vernal grass tucked behind her ear. _What's that one mean?_ he asked.

 _Poor, but happy,_ she replied. Crutchie grinned.

 _Yes, happy,_ he said, _very happy._

* * *

 **all flower meanings from languageofflowers dot com**

 **helenium:** tears

 **vernal grass:** poor, but happy

 **marigold:** despair

 **agrimony:** thankfulness, gratitude

 **osmunda:** dreams

 **flowering almond & hawthorne: **hope

 **cardinal flower:** health

 **ivy:** friendship, fidelity

 **sunflower (tall):** pride, appreciation

 **lily-of-the-valley:** return of happiness

 **zinnia:** thoughts of absent friends

 **straw:** union

 **judas tree:** betrayal, unbelief

 **french willow:** bravery and humanity

 **water willow:** freedom


End file.
